


Captain, O, My Captain

by ComfyJammies



Category: One Direction (Band), The shadiest band in the world., You know why!
Genre: Drug Use, H/L Fireworks Fic Exchange, Kink: mermaid, M/M, Some BDSM, X-Factor, bullshit 3.0, daddy direction, hell breaks loose, kink: Stockholm Syndrome/captivity, kink: captain, warnings throughout but really for adults only
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 03:43:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4506432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComfyJammies/pseuds/ComfyJammies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various kinks and hijinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain, O, My Captain

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my friend and colleague, JKR, for editing this. She wasn't even a 1D fan. Maybe I'll turn her out.
> 
> This is a gift for TheGlitterBee as part of a H/L Fireworks Fic Exchange. Prompt: canon-compliant, X-factor judge post 1D b/u. This person also is still kind of mad at Zayn, so I did my best to write him as a dirtbag. My beta said that it reads like a standard hetero male, so maybe not dirtbaggy enough. You can let me know. 
> 
> It'll take a few chapters to get to the core of your prompt, but I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> This is my first fic. I have tons of appreciation for all you writers out there. This process is beastly!

Captain, O, My Captain

“God! Fucking Zayn! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Goddamnit Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!”  Harry shouts to no one in particular but hopes that his vitriolic curses spark the sense of a higher power that would shake some sense into his gorgeous, tragically stupid bandmate.

A surge of fire overcomes him and he fights a desperate urge to throw something just to watch it shatter.  No fixing it. If someone were to care enough to tend to it with careful hands and Superglue, it would still bear the marks of its damaged—but not totally destroyed—history. Otherwise, toss it, ‘ _good riddance, go be broken in the bin_.’  He wasn’t always outwardly aggressive like this, but the last few years have brought out the worst in him. Now, he inwardly revels in destruction; it gives him a charge. The fakeness of flawlessness unsettles him, even in inanimate objects. We create things in our own image, don’t we? That intangible, albeit fleeting, phase between wholeness and ruination fascinates him.  Seeing something changed irreversibly satisfies a deep longing in his psyche.

As much as he wants to create a pile of brokenness everywhere, he takes a deep breath and tempers that emotion. After all, he is in his sanctuary--the kitchen, and it is his happy place. Besides he cleans up messes all day, so this one is just not worth it. He’ll have to find another outlet later, _hmmmm_.

“God damn it!” Unable to find his ‘Kitchen Zen’ he angrily rips off his Kiss Me apron, throws it on the kitchen island and marches out of the room.   He makes his way into the long hallway, the foot falls of his boots slapping loudly on the Italian hardwood floors with each dramatic, deliberate step. To complement the deep bass of his angry orchestra, his long, soft dick percussively whaps his right thigh with each stride, since he is now mostly naked. Hot head arcing back, he clenches his fists, raises them toward the chandeliers and bellows “That fucking idiot!”

“Lou!” Harry stomps quickly through the library and onto the balcony in search of his partner.

“Lou!” He projects his voice loudly toward the back yard, garden and terrace. Not there either. He continues throwing his voice in every direction around their Kensington Square manse.

“Babe.”

“Babe!”

“Baaaaaaabeeee, where you at? Louuuuuuuuu!?”

No response.

He takes the steps of their spiral staircase two at a time, taking care not to let his giraffe legs trip him up like they have countless times before. Clumsiness is a curse, and he can’t seem to kiss a princess to get the spell reversed. C’est la vie.

He picks up a striped shirt from the bannister at the top of the stairs, gives it a quick sniff and calls out, “Lou!!! Lou, where the fuck are you?”

Hastily opening and closing doors, finding each as equally empty as the last, he tosses the shirt in the laundry room and continues on. He finally reaches his last option, fourth door on the right, and peeks inside.

Harry enters to see a shirtless, sculpted back hunched over a keyboard. The other fella doesn’t sense him standing there, even though he is huffing and vibrating with anger, displaying his invisible feathers like a petulant peacock.  The boy with the beautifully-cut shoulders has been accused of being a bit oblivious before, especially when absorbed in his work.

A melodramatic pause passes. “Lou! Lou! Lou!” Harry shouts and stamps his boot in time with each pronouncement, his cock heaving and coming to rest on his right thigh, bobbling a bit as it settles in place.

Louis startles, clutches his left hand to his chest, and gasps.  His pen falls to the floor and lands next to some papers that had already sailed slowly to the floor.  They’re in good company with the other papers on the floor.  Little bit of a mess problem. Ahem.

Louis moves the headphone off of his left ear, “Jesus, Harry. What the fuck? Are you ok? What are you banging on about?” Louis notices that Harry’s usually gentle, meadow-green eyes are now not only electric Spanish-moss colored, but are also somehow spitting fire from the pupils. _Is he actually a dragon?_ Louis wonders.

“Babe, I just got a group text from Liam that Zayn fucked up real bad.”

“How bad now?” Louis asks, a bit annoyed. He removes his headphones fully and places them on his desk.

“Well, let’s just say that some pregnancy rumour might actually be true.” Harry huffs indignantly. His angry vibrations switch to slightly self-conscious swagger as he sees Louis gazing at his long, gazelle legs like a hungry hunter.

Louis leans forward a bit more over the keyboard and scans Harry’s body, drinking him in, lingering there…and _there_. His two favorites: lips and hips.

“You are fucking joking me r’now,” Louis closes his eyes, nodding his head in disbelief.

Harry notices that Louis’ expression has softened in amusement and smiles a bit back at him. “What do you mean, ‘Am I fah-king jokin’ you?’”

“You are standing there in your gold boots, completely naked like you are in all my dreams, banging on about what all,” Louis pauses, “and I wish you could see how ridiculous—“

“Ridiculous?!” Harry interrupts faux irritation in his voice, placing his hand on his hip, jutting it slightly and glaring at his mouthy beau. He schools his smirk into a sassy smize, hoping Louis won’t notice just how gone he is for him already.

Louis clips, “How ridiculous-ly cute you look. Now come over here and sit on my lap and tell me _all_ about it.”

“Aye, Aye Captain,” Harry salutes and tips his head to the side; a sultry rhythm playing out in his hips and eyes as he strolls over to his love. His boy does things to him. Private things.  

Harry cants his hips back and places his bottom demurely on Louis’ lap. He rests their heads together as Louis gently strokes his lover’s chest and shoulders.

Louis holds him, his grip resting on Harry’s love handles that causes two moans to escape in unison. Harry loves when Louis takes control. Louis deftly releases Harry’s bun and runs his hands through Harry’s curly locks, massaging his scalp as he goes. Harry mewls in appreciation and nuzzles deeper into his true love.

“Ok, now start at the beginning, and I want to know _everything_.”

“So, like I said. I got a text—“

“No, Babe, only the important stuff,” Louis whispers in Harry’s ear while cupping Harry’s cherubic cheek and playfully pinching his nipple. “I want to know why you are naked, strutting around in your gold booties. Is it my birthday? No. Hmmmm. It must be a special day. If not, we can make it special right now.”

Harry rubs his little bottom on Louis’ lap and buries Louis’ head in his chest. Louis motorboats him loudly and they bust up laughing.  They are quite possibly the two most enamored people anyone who truly knows them knows.

“Let me take care of you and help you release some of this stress,” Louis pleads softly as he caresses Harry’s low back and thighs, punctuating his intention with soft kisses to Harry’s long neck. “You know it is my favourite thing to do. And, look, you are already naked, so let’s go.”

Harry exhales and sinks deeper into Louis, letting his body surrender gently into the safe haven of his sweetheart’s arms. Louis is his castle, his keep, and his King.

 _King?_ he thinks. _Now, that’s a kink we haven’t explored._ Ah, another time. Louis’ thick dick filling up beneath Harry’s thighs presents a different issue he’d rather be focusing on. His body perking and yearning with want.

Harry locates his last two half- functioning brain cells and explains, “Well, I wasn’t _naked_ naked. I had my apron on and my boots, obviously.” Harry winks at Louis, who resumes playing with Harry’s hair giving the twirls a firm tug here and there. Louis nibbles on Harry’s earlobe and whispers something only appropriate for his lover’s ears.   Harry responsively leans toward him grinding down with his bum. He feels Louis shift and rut beneath him. He’s now fully hard; his thick cock tents his silky comfy trousers.   “Underneath my apron I am naked because I was cooking lunch for you, my Love, and you know when it’s made with _my_ love it tastes the best. And you told me that I look sexy when I wear my apron in the kitchen.  And so --”

“Honey, Baby, do you want to play?” Louis whispers slowly, yet insistently, as he grasps Harry’s wrists to make clear what his intentions are, namely being the counterpoint to Harry’s bass grunts--and fucking his name out of his lover’s mouth. Laying his name and claim on his sweetheart’s tongue.

“Yes. Yes. I do. Do you want to go to the Lounge?”

 

“Mmmmmmmm. Maybe later, but for now let’s stay here.” He pauses. Clearly a plan forming in his head. “Ok, I was thinking about maybe sort of playing you a song I am working on and you can do your sexy fairy dance. How does that sound? But no wrecking the equipment, so watch those gargantuan limbs, Mr. Styles. “

“Don’t you mean Future Mr. Tomlinson?”

“If you keep talking like that, we won’t make it to the chorus.”

“Oh, we _will_ be singing together alright. Hitting every note.”

“Very cheeky. Now budge up, Lovey.”

“Wait, let me light some candles. Be right back.” Harry jumps up and hustles out of the music room with a spring in his step.

Louis calls out, “Can you get us some water? And snacks? Please? And don’t forget the lube because I am going to break into that hiney, Honey.”

He returns with all requested items and a scarf wound around his hair. He lights the candles while Louis warms up his fingers on the keys.

“Fair warning, the verses are still really rough.”

“Just how I like it.”

Louis laughs and gives Harry a knowing look. “It’s about wanting to be naked with your lover and explore every inch of her body. “ Harry smiles at first and then shoots him a  Harry Styles death glare. “Oh, please, don’t give me that look. Gotta fit the billion dollar boy brand image. I made it as gender-neutral as possible so in case we sing it live, I won’t mess up and say ‘he.’ But you know I’ll be thinking about you, and I’ll probably be half-hard, too.  You know _all_ these songs are written for you. At least the ones about love and….what lovers do.”

“I know. Please continue.” Harry warms up his hips with some circles and stretches a bit side to side.

Louis takes a sip of water, clears his throat and begins, “ _Please leave your clothes on the stairs and let me stare at you. I can’t get enough.  Little marks showing how you like it rough. I’ve got my marks, too. I can’t get enough of you_.”

Harry listens, a broad smile breaking onto his face. He is so in love. God.  How did he get so lucky? He shimmies his arse in appreciation and keeps dancing.

“ _Please leave your shirt at my house.  Traces of you linger on my finger. Memories of your body make mine…memories of your body made mine, memories of you and me. I can’t get enough of you. Can you feel my body pulse hot for you? Breathing life into my bones, sparking under your touch.  I can’t get enough of you.”_

Harry slows his dance and starts stroking his cock, a flush rising in his chest. His eyes are searing Louis’ space.

“ _You are the only one I see_. _If I asked please marry me, would you agree? You make my life complete_.”

Harry nods his head, smiles gently, and Louis continues.

“ _I’ve known ever since I saw you in line at the Meet-and-Greet_.”

Harry guffaws and abruptly stops stroking, dragging his hand over the tip, “Oh, hell no. You stupid arse. I swear. Can you imagine? Our fans would be passing out tits over arse.”

Louis nods, “I know. I just made that part up.”

“I really like the rest of it. Shows promise.” Harry closes the gap between them, holding his hard cock like a microphone up to Louis’ lips. In a deep, sexy radio voice, he gives his best interviewer face.  “Can you share what inspired you, Mr. Tomlinson? Your adoring fans would love to know.”

“I’d rather show you.” He takes Harry’s length deep in his mouth, taking care to gently hum on the head as he pulls off with his lips.  Harry shudders and braces himself on Louis’ shoulders, his knees feeling weak just a few slurpy sucks in. They’ve been steadily screwing for over four years, but his boy sweeps him off his feet, literally. Surrender overtakes him and his heart feels at home, peaceful.

“Lou, I’m ready. Please. I won’t last like this.”

“Ok, first pick a microphone. This one is for our home collection.”

Harry chooses the blue handled one and hands it to Louis.

“Nice choice, Love. You know who loves to fuck you, don’t you?”

“I do. Lou, “he pants, palming his warm, hard cock. “You do.”

They’re not in their London Love Lounge as they affectionately call it, so he has to improvise. Louis puts a comfy, oversized pillow from their music room couch and a luxuriously, thick soft blanket down on the ground creating a love nest. He fluffs the pillow and rests the mic and mic stand next to it at an angle. He presses record as he leads Harry down by his wrists, carefully, yet authoritatively to the pillow. It’s Business Time a la Flight of the Conchords. He snatches up a snapback from the table and tugs in firmly in place. It’s not nautical or captain-ly, but it will have to do. “You’ve really done it this time.” Louis gives him a swat to the bottom. “Punishment is coming. Tell me, who has to fuck your wrongs right?”

He carefully takes off Harry’s headscarf and unties the ends.

Harry loves to be restrained. Submitting to Lou feels like a sexy shade of partnership to him and heightens pleasure for both of them. Louis spends a fair amount of time struggling beneath the bonds, too. They share that, really.  Louis acts according to his love’s interests and ties Harry’s wrists carefully.

“Tell me, my captive, who owns your arse?” Louis checks the knots around Harry’s wrists for adequate circulation and gives him a quick kiss and a squeeze before he heads back to the business end of things.

“You do, Captain Lou. Only you. Yours.” his deep voice amplified by the mic filling the room. “Please make me whole again. I’m begging you.” Harry pleads. “I need it. Need you. Please fuck me whole.”

“Fuck your hole?” Louis zings. “Tell your Captain how you’d like your punishment.” he hisses, while coating his fingers in lube.

“I want to start slow and tender,” Harry moans as he situates his elbows on the pillow, head down, arse in the air.

“Slow and tender,” Louis responds while lining himself up with Harry’s bum.  “You don’t deserve that kind treatment. How will that teach you? Kill ‘em with kindness? What kind of a vessel do you think I run here? A charity?” Louis strokes his love’s bum gently and gives it few sharp smacks to keep him on edge.  “Any other requests, my Prisoner of Love?”  

“I trust you with the rest.” Harry whispers, his moans reverberating as Louis teases his hole. “Know you’ll take care of me,” a gasp caught in his throat as Louis’ finger slips inside.  “Always do.”

After a few minutes of dedicated finger banging and expert prostate stroking, Harry is three-fingers-ready and begging for it. He’s whimpering into the mic, his babbles bouncing off the walls.    Louis pulls his fingers out, leaving his lover keening for his touch. He spreads Harry’s bum cheeks and licks a deep stripe along his pleasure portal causing Harry’s anus to quiver and practically plead to Louis on its behalf.

Louis renders him completely inarticulate with his talented tongue, “Lou, Lou, Lou, awww, gahhhh, uhhhh, yaaaa, uhhhhh, yaaaa, Captain LouLou, uhhhhh, mmmmmhmmmm, Louuu…” Harry is babblemoaning involuntarily with each thrust of his Love’s tongue, tears falling on the pillow. His pleasure is amplified even more from hearing his own voice echoing off the walls, filling the room with his sounds of sheer rapture. His body begins shaking harder, longing for the pressure of Louis’ length and release.

Louis squirts some lube into his palm and warms it up a bit before rubbing more on Harry’s anus, adequately slicking him up. He slathers the remainder on his rock-hard cock, gives himself a few tugs for good measure, and lines himself up.  As he pushes in, Harry’s body shudders and he loudly calls out in paroxysmal pleasure.

Louis eases his way in and gently rocks his hips into Harry’s backside with Harry lifting up and matching his rhythm. So in sync. They were born to do this.  “God, Harry, you look so incredible.  I fucking love you … I love fucking you. So much. So much. I love taking you like this. You’ve been so bad. So bad. I love you.”

Harry’s reply comes in the arcing and swaying of his lithe body, cresting in time with his lover’s thrusts.

They continue until Harry begs for a break. His balls are gonna blow.

“Babe, can you put your arms behind your back or do I need to untie you first?” Louis asks, as he moves the mic and repositions it at their hips.

Harry bites the end of the scarf and releases the knot with a quick yank of his head. Louis unravels his lover’s wrists and gently applies the restraints to Harry’s ankles.  “Actually….this ok, Hun?”

“Mmmhmmmm,” Harry moans in pleasure. “Yessssss, perfect, thank you, Captain. Just tight enough.”

 

“Okay, you little hussy, put your knees together a bit more. I’m not thaaat short, jeez. Okay, that’s perfect.” He drizzles more lube on Harry’s backside and mounts him again with vigor. Rough waters ahead.

With his hand sufficiently coated in lube, he wraps it around Harry’s cock. The room fills with sounds of humping, slick dicks, and bodies slapping together.  They groan in harmony.  Louis pounds him with reckless abandon whipping his hips like his life depended on fucking Harry’s brains out.

“Jesus, Lou, I…..can’t… take it. Fuckfuckfuck. M’gonna  come” Harry pants between pushes.  

“Not yet, Babe.” Louis huffs while keeping pace, as Harry’s whimpers are swallowed by the pillow. Each thrust draws an increasingly strained wail from Harry’s throat. Harry’s knees quake and burn slightly from the friction on the blanket. His thigh muscles quiver more and more with each hit to his prostate as Louis strokes him like a pro.

“I want to marry you, Harry.” Louis declared, and Harry bucked back to deepen the thrust.

Hearing that proclamation evokes an unbridled, manly scream and Harry comes hard over Louis’ fist; moments later Louis withdraws his throbbing cock and shoots his load onto Harry’s writhing back.

They’re both panting breathlessly and glistening with sweat. The room stinks of sex.

“Fuuuh…uuuhhck.. me...” Harry exhales. “Gah.”

“I did.” Louis replies with a giggle and stops the recording. “Kim Kardashian, watch your arse.”

“You’re pretty pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” Harry snickers as Louis pulls him ever closer. He loves holding his boy and stroking his curls after they make love. “You’re the King of cool, aren’t ya?” _Hmm,_ he thinks _, there’s that word King again. Definitely have to explore that kink to its fullest._

With a wet flannel, Louis takes care to clean up all the come, planting kisses on the freshly wiped spots.  He swipes a bit of come dripping toward Harry’s crack and presents it to his lover. “Here. This ought to shush you up, you wisecracker.”

Harry gobbles it up lapping the jizz right off Louis’ finger like he was offered whipped cream from a delicious sundae.  

“God, Harry, I love you so much, you know that, right?”

“Of course, my Love. It’s mutual, we’ve discussed it.”

“I love you to the Moon and back…,” Louis pauses and turns to look Harry deep in the eyes. “…to Uranus.” And then gooses Harry’s booty hole playfully eliciting a giggle and a swat from his partner.

“Oh, and I love you, LouLou, to the Moon and back to Nip-tune.” Louis yelps as Harry gives his nipple a strong squeeze.

These two goofballs. Life is for the living, so why hold back? No point leaving words unsaid or memories unmade. Tomorrow is promised to no man.

They cuddle a bit more before tidying up and moving their afterglow party outside to one of their luxe balconies.

Louis lights up a joint and passes it to Harry. A few minutes pass. The conversation’s easy as the afternoon sun is setting, and the unusually warm March air feels magical. Each deep inhalation brings with it deeper peace, while subsequent exhalations release stress, work commitments, and impending bullshit that is always threatening to collapse upon them, crushing them like ants in an avalanche.

“Ok, so tell me about Zayn.” Louis finally queries. ”I don’t _really_ care, but which pregnancy rumour are you talking about?”

“Haha right. I know. There’s so many. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got a crew of gorgeous kids out there. Gosh, those genes, right?  And the girls that he hooks up with are pretty nice looking too…” There’s a pregnant pause as he squares up to look at Louis,”…for a girl.” He chuckles like a doofus.

“For a girl? Miss Swirly Sweetcheeks, you are terrible, you know that? I do know what you are saying though. Some of them are quite cute. Kind of young, though, and honestly that’s always creeped me out. Not even just the female thing; it’s just that they are so young looking. I have four little sisters, so…… Yick!”

“I mean, you and I hooked up when I was 16, and you had no problem taking my virginity like a knight on a horse snatching up the fair maiden. Err, I mean gay little male maid. What is that called again? Oh my god, I don’t even know what I’m talking about.” Harry laughs, and then takes another puff before passing the joint back.

They both laugh. One perk about being HELLA rich is having the best bush in the world. Harry insists on organic, free-range, fair-trade ganj so they’re blazing as healthfully and ethically as possible. This particular strain comes from Nepal and Harry can’t help himself punning it up with various versions of getting higher than the Himalayas. Getting stoned tickles his funny bone. Boner. Penis jokes.

It also makes him quite horny.

“You do talk some shit, you know that? Well you were quite the little horse-riding cockslut at that young age and you’ve been ridin’ my jock ever since.” Louis smiles deeply and brings Harry in for a hug, holding him there for a sweet snuggle.

“If I’m not mistaken," Harry adds haughtily, "it was you, recently, who said that I rode your dick like Zorro, so whatevs man, you love it. Back in the saddle.”

Louis instinctively cups his own cock and gives it a quick squeeze. “The point is, Hazza, that I am madly in love with you and always have been. I think that’s the difference between us and Zayn.” _And us, and everyone else_ , he muses.

“Sometimes it just works. We really _are_ the exception, aren’t we?” Harry spoke straight to Louis’ heart while planting kisses on his chest, avoiding Louis’ gaze, falling deeper deeper into the warmth of his love’s embrace.

Louis’ face scrunches as he milks a deep pull from the joint. He exhales with a loud cough and pause. A sense of tranquility takes over his body, temporarily displacing the kraken-like anxiety that is always just beneath the surface, threatening a stranglehold on his well-being.

“We are. We are,” he confirms “Definitely the exception. I know we’ve talked about it a million times but sometimes I am so blown away by everything, and I don’t know where I would be without you, you know? This whole journey. I’m so grateful for you. I don’t even believe in God but I believe in you, Harry… I believe in us.” Harry nuzzles deeper into Louis’ chest, purring affirmatively. “Sometimes, I lie in bed and imagine us with a noisy house full of kids and swim practice and family meals, teaching our kids French and to play the piano. Late morning snuggles, bedtime stories after bath time piled up in the bed. That’s all I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted with you. I see you with me every step of the way. My partner. My husband. My soulmate. Mon copain. My better half. My everything. I feel like such an idiot trying to use words sometimes to tell you.” He holds Harry ever closer, kissing his head. “But I pray that you know my heart.”

“I do, Babe.” Harry assures.

Louis stubs out the joint and takes a long sip of the fresh squeezed lemonade Harry made for him earlier that day. That dreamboat always keeps a pitcher ready in the refrigerator for these warm days. He really is the luckiest guy on the planet to have Harry looking after him. He gets emotional with that realization, and his throat chokes up.

“The only... one of the only real things I know about this world, this life, is that you feel the same. And that means everything, you know?” He can no longer ignore the lump in his throat and he makes the “Louis Cry Face” that he’s famous for amongst his bandmates.

Harry hears Louis’ pitch get sharper. He looks up and wraps his arms around his Love and gives him the biggest hug. Tear drops cascade Louis’ cheeks. Harry continues to kiss him everywhere he can to let him know that there is no one more beloved to him than his LouLouBear. No one.

They cuddle until Louis’ breath evens, the sniffing slows and the tone feels lighter.

“Let’s get married then.” Harry suggests playfully, knowing that this is a tense subject for them given the current state of their lives.  Being together, closeted, in the biggest boy band of all time, isn’t exactly smooth sailing. My hands; your hands tied up like two ships.

“I want to, you know?” Louis assures, “but we _have_ to wait. I want to have a big celebration with everyone we love and no one that we don’t. No press. All those people can fuck right off. I just want it to be the best day of your life, Babe, because I know that it will be mine.”

Now, Harry’s tearing up and, moments later, is full on crying. In his heart, mind, and every meaningful part of his existence, there’s an ever-present conflict: he is blessed with the life of his dreams, but he can’t enjoy it authentically. He’s in love. Making music and performing feeds his soul. He makes people really happy and gets to contribute to the betterment of the world and society, BUT it comes at the cost of being completely constrained in nearly all of his interactions outside of the walls of his private dwellings. And it’s poisoning him.  Intense scrutiny, lies, masks he wears. Sometimes, he doesn’t even recognize himself because his life is so fucking unreal, and he’s forced to star in a role he doesn’t truly want. But he can’t have one without the other. Still, he would give his left arm to have a stunt double for his required PR antics and even fan service.

It’s like he had to sell his soul to the devil so he could have his sweet angel, even on the strictest, most inhumane of terms. How did things get so fucked up and intense?  He’s a sweet boy from a small town hours away from his Mama. There is no foreseeable way out that doesn’t ‘do more harm than good’, so he’s stuck on this tilt-a-whirl. _They’re_ stuck, because they’re in this fucked up, soap opera saga together.

He prays for a happy ending (who doesn’t?)

And he’s 99 percent sure he will get one. 96 percent, if he’s honest. Maybe lower, when the doubt sinks in. Within his fearful mind, the odds are against them. It’s them against a vast sea of uncertainty, with predators lurking in hidden corners while other are in plain sight. He traded his joie d’ vivre and naïveté to protect himself and Louis from these dark forces. Wearing different guises, these psychic intruders all want something from the boys. Thirsty for their essence, looking for fresh blood and another way to drain the pair’s vitality.

When thoughts like these creep into his head, the pressure becomes too great, and he can’t catch his breath. Feels like an emotional asthma attack. Fear dictates his thoughts, keeping him up at night, poisoning his heart—occasionally makes him doubt it _all_.

In the private recesses of his paranoia, he wonders what role Louis plays in the illusion.

“Yes, Love. I want that, too. There’s no rush, really. You know how they say you always want what you can’t have. That may be true, but in this case, Lou, I really just want to be with you forever. Your heart is my home. My truest home. If we were married, those feelings might even get stronger.” Harry states earnestly, then laughs. “Uh oh, then what? Will I be compelled to get your name tattooed on my body?”

“More than you already have? It’s funny to me that people assume that’s a cross on your hand. I mean it makes sense, but I know it’s an “l” “t” and I love it. I know your heart, who you pray to, who you get on your knees for.”

“How will I satisfy the got-to-have-Louis need?” Harry teases, dangling it out there like a carrot.

“I have a few ideas.” Louis snickers. “Anyways, I bet when we are married and free from all – _or most_ –of this bullshit, we will just be happy and at peace. I can see it and feel it in my bones. Some things were meant to be and we just have huge, fucking planet-sized obstacles making it hard for us to seal the deal right now….. But honestly, none of that shit really matters. I have you, and that’s all I need.”

“Ok, then let’s get married…..”

“Haz, yes, but let’s do it right. And we will, but you must be patient. You know, that thing- patience? It’s like a muscle; you have to exercise it once in a while. You’re blessed a big dick, blowjob lips, a huge heart but no patience. What am I going to do with you?”

“Patience is not a virtue. You’ve been misled. Hurry-the-fuck-up is the new virtue I’d like you to embrace.”

“You’re a funny little cad, you know that?”

“More like a funny little Cadbury egg that you love to suck the white creamy middle out of. I’ve been watching you melt them in your mouth and then tonguing it out. And, I think it is fucking hawwwwt.”

“Jesus, Haz, you ol perv. How dare you do that to me with Easter coming up and you have those damn things all over the house tryin’ to plump me up like a chubby bunny while you’re just secretly getting your jollies. Now, I’m going to associate my favorite Easter candy with _your_ sexual deviance. Tsk Tsk. How very dare you, Harry? Just try me, I will fuck you right here on this balcony. Melt one of those eggs between your buns and eat it up. I swear, I will bang you senseless, so help me god.” Louis drove the threat home with a nipple twist, causing Harry to yelp.

“Is it weird to say that that sounds kind of hot?” Harry drawled.

They laugh like a bunch of loony goons, clutching their tummies and cackling until they are both nearly breathless.

“We really are a pair, OTP, of absolute fucking weirdos. If people knew what was going on behind closed doors, they’d be mor-ti-fied.” Harry said, waving his index finger in the air.

“I know; we’ll have to keep this Easter candy kink to ourselves. Our dirty little chocolate secret.”

Harry’s face changes, his eyes darken, and Louis can almost predict what is coming next. “LouLou, I don’t want to be a dirty little secret anymore.” Harry whines. Yup, Louis was right and his partner is quite obsessed with the topic apparently. “I can’t wait.” Harry laughs, teasing Louis. “You better hurry up or this train is leaving the station. All aboard!” He gets his best conductor arm going with the motions.

“Bullshit. You have one rider, Mr. ChooChooTrain!  And that’s me. Don’t forget it.”

“You are such a knob.”

“Yes, but I’m _your_ knob. And you are stuck with me.”……………….”Speaking of knobs, tell me more about Zayn. My phone’s in the car; I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Oh, shit!” Harry remembers.  “I forgot to respond back to the text. Fuck! I read it and went to tell you about it straight away. I didn’t plan on getting distracted by your big dick in my arse. What’s up with that? That was not part of the plan. I feel like I’ve let my bandmates down. M’such a loser.” Harry feigns with fake sorrow, showing off his best Frowny Mc Frownster puppy dog eyes.  

Louis shakes his head, giving Harry a shrewd look, full of judgmental side-eye. “That’s on you, Styles. Massive mistake. Rookie stuff, really. Rule Number One in this household is always factor Fuck Time into any timeline. Also, Future Family Discussion time because, you know, those are my two favorite pastimes and we could do that all day. And since we _are_ kind of on a tour break, we should just not plan to leave the house for the foreseeable future. We have LOADS of love making to do and family planning to discuss….. And, I don’t want you out of my sight. You do realize that you stormed into my music room stark arse naked, all worked up and pissed off, wearing nothing but your sexy gold boots? Fuck, I didn’t stand a chance. Fuck Time: ding ding ding!  And, while I can’t speak for everyone, you didn’t let me down—quite the opposite, in fact. You always bring me up.” He says as he palms his cock, seductively, closing his eyes, lost in thoughts of Harry deep-dicking the Donny out of him--- and tie-ups.

“Uhhh, gahhh.” Harry interrupts the daydream, shaking his head at Louis. “Does your dick have an off -switch? Uhh, wait ,don’t answer that. That dick has given me many gifts. “Ok, here’s what I know,” Harry is visibly trying to draw his stoned thoughts together like a child running on a beach attempting to grasp clouds, “I don’t know anything other than Zayn probably got a hook-up pregnant and Liam wants to hold an emergency meeting tomorrow at his parent’s holiday home. That’s all I know and I should have responded two hours ago, but Fuck Time fucked that up. Oh well. What shall I tell him?”

“What’s there to say? We’re free in the afternoon, right? We can meet at four if that works for everyone else. You might get roped into cooking dinner, though.”

“What’s new?” Harry responded flatly, “Ok, I will let them know.”

“And we should pack a bag presumably since we are all staying there for at least one night.  Maybe we could get away for a night or two on the way home. Somewhere along the coast? Nice and romantic. I’ll be real sweet to you, my Love. Bubble baths and back rubs.”

Harry nodded.

“If you prepare the food, I can pack the bags and get things loaded in the car. Does that sound good to you?”

Harry makes an odd guttural grunt that could only be described as hesitation mixed with consideration, topped off with doubt. He’s a complex guy and so are his noises.

“Is that a yes, Babe?”

“Well, do you think you can remember to pack everything for our trip? I remember when you—“Harry locks his disapproving eyes with Louis’.

“Of course. And whatever I inevitably forget, we can buy somewhere. It’s not the war for heaven’s sake.” Louis faces him squarely and claps him on the head. “You have trust issues Styles. I’ve noticed that.”

“No, I don’t,” Harry lies, “and I don’t respond to that name in our home. It’s “Future Mr. Tomlinson” please and thank you—until YOU make it official.”

They exchange heart eyes and some intense fonding, lost in the moments swept up until…

“Ok, real talk now. It’s getting nippy. Nipply. Are you going to put some clothes on dear Future Husband, or are you going to parade that sweet arse around naked and continue to tease the hell out of me? I could possibly die if all my blood flow goes to my cock for hours on end, you know. Have you considered my welfare in all your antics?”

“I might put on some lace knickers, a headscarf and maybe some wedges but that’s the extent of my dressing plan today.” Harry bats his eyelashes seductively, “Why, fancy a fashion show?”

“Fuck YES!”

***

 

The drive to Liam’s parent’s holiday house in Great Yarmouth is a few hours north east of London, but time passes quite pleasantly when you’re smoking bowls, having epic lyric change battles, and being briefed on the history and significance of each town you pass. Harry loves to be the source of such vital information and, thanks to his iPhone, there is no lack of what Louis calls “useless trivia.” And though he’d never let Harry know it, Louis secretly loves hearing Harry carry on about silly things that he finds interesting. Perhaps when they retire from this Boy Biz, Harry can make him proud on a quiz show.

As for his contribution to the road trip experience, Louis describes himself as _massively gassy_ ; so much so that Harry accuses him of eating _actual_ garbage for breakfast, but you take the roses with the thorns... w _ith_ retching and heckling. On the whole, things are easy. It’s always quite easy between them. Fun, loving, supported, primary needs met, life was undeniably blessed.

When they arrive at the house, the cool sea air instantly refreshes their bodies as they step out of the Range Rover to stretch. This is one of their favorite getaways. The house is lovely and tucked away against the side of a rock wall. The nearest neighbor is a few kilometers away and separated by cliffs and unapproachable landscape. They were alone for all intents and purposes.  This place provides privacy and freedom, two things that were always in agonizingly short supply these days.

A cursory glance inside indicates that they were the last of the “partiers” to arrive.  From the looks of it, it appears that the other boys had started the party at least a few days ago. The Evidence lay in the clutter of pizza boxes, beer cans, cigarette cartons, and crisps bags, debris, general disorder combined with a pungent odor that screamed “FRAT LIFE!” They’d gone “Hog Wild” as Niall would say. More like a bunch of pigs, if someone asked Harry. It is clear from his face that no one needed to. Harry shivers involuntarily and starts cleaning up as soon as he finishes with the introductory ‘Hey, vas happenins’? and ‘How you beens?’. Louis is right at home among the detritus and blech, but there was something unfriendly and unsettling rippling around his bandmates as they greeted the two lovebirds.  Some sort of thick, bad energy--a palpable dread. The kind of vibe that instinctively activates that fight or flight response and puts you immediately on edge. One where you go to turn for the door but realize you are trapped in a haunted house of horrors. You’re fucked--and not in the good way.

Palpable stir belies the room, haunts the walls, a disruption in the force. It is clear that some sort of shit is going down.  Miss Mischief cuffed her trousers and kicked the band’s ass yet again. Heads are rolling.  PR spin monster whirling and gigging, leaving no truth in its wake.  

Everyone is kind of out of sorts. Level-headed Liam paces the room, sweaty and muttering to himself. Niall, the otherwise happy-go-lucky-Erin-go-bragh Irish dude appears nothing but stressed and fidgety. He’s drinking heavily, too, but at least that is not unusual. Zayn, a complicated fellow, looks utterly haggard compared to his usual well-kept image, but is still gorgeous as ever, of course. He looks quite guilty and in spite of this awareness, he still has an air of absolutely not giving a shit. Harry’s not sure if that attitude will serve him well in the long-run. Time will tell, always does.

Harry moves on to the next disaster—the kitchen. Thankfully, it is mostly just cluttered and not too dirty since none of those barbarians actually cook. Harry busies himself binning the boxes, collecting the tins and placing them in the proper waste receptacles, and wiping the counters and hob. _Was that so hard? Took me 5 minutes._ _Filthy animals._

Harry is still taking it all in, although he’s trying to act distracted and distant. Cleaning up the sty is just an excuse not to engage the boys in whatever heavy, deep and real emotional shit is plugging the toilet now.

 _What in the fuck is really going on around here_?  Louis kicks the football around and playfully attempts to interact with the others. With a concerned eye, Harry assesses this crew and sees how the last 4 years stressed them all out.  They are worked to death. They have an unrelenting schedule of appearances and performances, interviews, posing for pictures, face up and forward for the paps, trying not to cringe as the fans deafen them with their shrieks and shrills and overall hysteria. These boys are just humans.

Why is it so hard to remember that?

What is it about celebrity that bestows upon these boys a magic shield to protect them?

Nothing.

If anything, celebrity lays them bare. Unprotected, exposed, and constantly fighting to retain some sense of humanity and personal space to have normal thoughts, feelings and emotions. A _real_ life.

Occasionally, Harry has had the urge to say to overzealous fans: “Would you scream like this at your mate? Do you think your behaviour makes me comfortable? I love you, too, but would you please stop touching me??? No, I don’t want to sign that and no, I don’t need to explain myself.”

He is also itching to shout at interviewers: “No, I am not a womanizer. I love women, but not like that. She and I are just friends. No, I am not looking for ANYTHING in a girl (please STOP asking that GODDAMN question) Thank you. Cheers.”

And, most of all, he has wanted to scream to the world: “Yes, I am happily engaged to my loving partner and bandmate of over four years, Louis Tomlinson. No, you cannot watch, you cheeky monkeys. Yes, we have had to keep it a secret, but you extra clever people figured it out a long time ago. Once and for all—Larry is real. Real AF.”

Some proclamations will just have to wait. Even babies take time to gestate. They are gifts from heaven and perfect right away but take some time to be ready for their Earthside existence.

It’s the story of his life.

The scrutinizing eye takes no prisoners.  No amount of media training could ever prepare them for the unrelenting onslaught of adoration, criticism, speculation and sheer volume of people interested in their lives.  They love their fans and the momentum they generate through social media especially when they are supporting causes good for society in the name of the boys and the band.  They are brilliantly resourceful, mega-creative and passionate, but being on the receiving end of that focused fanaticism has burnt them out beyond all recognition. Emotionally charred. They’re only human after all.  What’s the acceptable amount of bullshit one person can portray and put up with before it is socially permissible to snap and say, “Fuck you. Leave me the fuck alone. I’m not perfect. I don’t want to follow you. I know we are a boy band, but we are grown, so fuck the fuck off right the fuck now. All the love.“

Even if Harry musters a faint smile for the cameras, the profound exhaustion remains plain on his face—and has been there for quite a long time. The boys need a break, but they’re locked in a contract with Beelzebub.

Alas and alack.

The show must go on.

Harry pops the lasagna he made at home in the oven and sets the timer. The butter has softened from their drive and spreads easily.  He takes little joys in flicking his wrist and making playful designs with the butter on the breadsticks.  He leaves dinner to cook, then cracks open a beer and wanders onto the terrace. The view is overlooking the vast expansive ocean. A little piece of mind is a welcome visitor.

Harry takes a deep breath just like he learned from his yoga teacher. The crisp air fills his lungs and quiets his scattered, jagged thoughts. In for four, out for eight.  Inhale the good shit, exhale the bullshit. Ahhhhhhhhh……

He muses, _When was the last time I had a legitimate thought in my head or did something for the sheer joy of doing it?_ His life has become so orchestrated that he lost sight of himself and he’s just tired. So fucking tired. So. Fucking. Tired. Of everything.

His back aches as he hunches just a little more forward leaning on the terrace’s wooden railing in an effort to shield himself away from the intruding realization that nothing was really under his control.

He also was becoming quite grumpy and no amount of Starbucks was going to fix this _. Venti fuck it all, whip my ass with sprinkles. Sprinkles on top_ , Harry muses. _Speaking of_ , he wonders, _where is my speckly sprinkle twink_? He wouldn’t mind bending Louis over the balcony right now and giving it to him proper. Maybe he’ll get creative and stroke him off through the slats…. His mind wanders.

Shadows fall on the surroundings as the baby waves crash harshly into the Mother Ocean.  Over and over and steady Mother just takes it and supplies her babies with material and momentum for inevitable future crashes. Part of the job. Harry likes to think of the ocean as a loving family distinct from its land-dwelling counterparts, but equally important and worthy of respect. He wishes he could hug the ocean and express thanks to Her. He is kind of a sentimental goober like that.

Watching the sun set has always been a comforting phenomenon for Harry.  It is predictable, somewhat magical. No one knows why the Earth keeps spinning and why we are here. And there’s no scientific rationale for why the sun and moon continue their complementary functions, but they do them all the same.  And they do so without anyone forcing them or anyone appreciating their dedication to keeping the world going. If he were stoned, he might say that the sun and moon deserve a Twitter account so people could express appreciation. Maybe he’ll use his celebrity sway and get them trending…

 

“Hi Babe.” Louis gently places his hand on Harry’s shoulder, rousing him out of his reverie.

“Hi Love.” Harry says and turns to give Louis a hug, holding him close. These times are precious and the world is a mysterious place; best to experience them with a loving partner.

“You ok, Babe?” Louis asks softly, while pulling back to look deep into the beautiful, green windows of his sweetheart’s soul.

“Yeah, just pondering the mysteries of the Universe.” Harry replies in kind, softly and slowly per usual.

“Again? What have I told you about that? Thinking is dangerous and nothing good can come from it.” Louis teases.

They both giggle despite the obvious tension surrounding the visit.

“What the heck is going on inside? I couldn’t take it. The vibes were hella weird. Needed some headspace.”

“Yeah, I know. Umm, things are really quite bad. We need to bring you up to speed. But, I don’t want to talk about it now. I’d rather just—“ he places his lips to Harry’s, pulling him close with his strong arms. Safe and sound, creating a sanctuary for each other.  Harry’s mouth opens easily and their tongues wrap, cresting and crashing like the waves nearby. All is right in their world; perhaps just in their little microcosm.

“I love you so much, Harry.” Louis says, clutching Harry’s chilly hands in his warm ones and places them on his heart drawing him closer. His ocean blue eyes transmitting every truth and promise from Shakespeare to The Notebook. He gazes deeply at Harry, breathing him in, bathing in his loveliness.

“I love you, too, Babe.” he looks down, eyes closed as he plants kisses on Louis’ forehead and rests his own there, too. Third eye to third eye.  Harry wonders, _what would their souls communicate to each other that escape human perception?_ Harry’s mind wanders to LaLaLand enroute to Narnia.

*Ding*

Harry looks around slightly confused.

“Babe that was the timer. For your lasagna.”

  
“Oh, yeah,” Harry remembers.  “let’s head inside.”

Louis jets off, dashing for the door “Last one inside is a rotten egg.”

“You already won that title! You stunk up the whole car on the way here!”

The atmosphere around the dinner table is tense and somewhat subdued. Lots of fidgeting and unconscious tapping; any way to release that nervous dread that seems to coat the surface of their faces. Niall, perhaps sensing the need to lighten it up, tells a story about how his nephew, Theo, pooped on the pediatrician during the exam.   The pediatrician ignored it and continued the appointment with poop on her coat. Theo’s parents were so embarrassed and didn’t want to say anything, but then the baby kicked her and some of the poop flew around the room and landed on some important-looking equipment.

Poop jokes. Always a crowd pleaser.

Louis regales the boys with stories from babysitting his siblings and all the trouble they got into. Once he dared Lottie to lick Marmite off of Phoebe’s nose. Phoebe started crying, and Lottie ended up with Phoebe’s boogers in her mouth. Another time, Jay asked them to make her a sandwich after a long shift at the hospital. Louis convinced Lottie to put dry cat food in it and tell their mum that it was a new kind of crunchy peanut butter.

Gross. Anyway.

After dinner, Liam makes them some cocktails that the Funky Buddha is famous for, and they pass around a bowl of crisps.

“Ok,” Liam finally begins taking some control of this meeting. “I think we should talk about what is going on and maybe we can come to some sort of agreement or unified decision to present to management.”

The other four boys nod in agreement.

Louis interjects, “My question to you, boys, is do we smoke up first? I gotta feeling I wanna be reeeaal high for this conversation.” He scans the crowd, and the reaction seems mixed. “Alright, let’s put it to a vote. If you want to blaze first, raise your hand and if you want to blaze later, pick your nose and eat it because you are a fucking loser.”

The results are as expected. Liam is the only one whose hand remained down. Niall picks his nose, but it is out of necessity; he definitely is on the Smoke First team.

Zayn nudges Liam, “As a lesson to you about coolness, hand over your sack.” Zayn puts his hand out and waits for Liam to fish out a baggie from his hoodie pocket and hand it over.  “It hurts me to do this to you, man, but your twatty behavior violated the First Amendment of everything, and now you must face the consequences.”

Zayn packs a bowl with his newly confiscated stash and passes it to Harry, who lights it and begins the smoke circle. When Louis draws a hit, he blows the smoke cloud at Liam. Niall waves his hands in the air like he is performing a ritual. “Liam, with this smoke, you are blessed, and if you are a little baby again, we will put your pants in the freezer.”

Everyone laughs, except Liam, who is handed a nearly cashed pipe. He dumps out the dregs, packs a freshie for himself, and spitefully smokes the whole thing to his head.

Weed reduces Liam to a giggle monster who just wants to have fun but who makes no sense at all. Well, shit, he’s entitled. It’s not like a _true_ emergency after all. Everything in its time. In this case, about four months until the reveal.  They opt to smoke up more and play FIFA until Liam is passably coherent.

***

Harry wakes first. They all klunked out on the couch like some college urchins. Louis stirs slightly when Harry sits up. “Mornin’ early bird,” Louis whispered to Harry, whose interest is piqued by what he sees beneath Louis’ trackies. “Mmmhmmm, that’s right. Early bird gets the worm.” _Early bird gets the wood._ Harry’s mouth opens in delight when Louis tugs his pants down to reveal an impressive morning wood.

He takes his lover by the hand, quietly pulling him off the sofa and hustles down to the master bedroom. “Take a quick shower. I’ll be back in exactly three minutes. Be ready.” He points to the bed and runs out the door.

Ninety seconds later, he returns with two steaming cups of tea in one hand and something else cupped in the other.

“Whatcha got there Hazzyboo?” Louis’ interest is piqued.

Harry places the teas on the bedside table, still cupping the mystery substance. “None of your beeswax. Now lay on your tummy, please.  I want to play a little bit. Is that ok?” Louis nods, eagerly. Harry continues, “I want to have my breakfast in bed.”

Louis removes his towel and lies on the bed like requested. Harry gets a few fresh towels and puts them beneath Louis.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Louis asks brightly. He’s not sure if he should be excited or afraid.

“Not a peep. I don’t want to hear one word from you. Lay down please. And remember: complete silence. We can’t have the boys walking in here. Understand?”

“Mmmmhmmm…” Louis muffles into the bedding.

Harry’s hand is still hot from handling the cuppas, and Louis flinches a bit when Harry uses it to grip Louis’ mighty fine arse. He lets out a squeak as Harry’s hot hand sizzles on his flesh.

“Not a sound.” Harry warns, sternly guiding Louis’ head toward the pillow.

Louis plants his face down in the bedding and sighs.

Harry’s warm hands spread Louis cheeks apart. He plops a dollop of soft butter on Louis’ arse hole and blops the remainder at the top of Louis’ crack for later. It melts immediately and streaks over his low back, rounding the mounds of his bodacious bootie.

Normally he would start off slow, but his baker instincts override gentlemanly decorum and he just fucking goes for it. He gets his face in cheek-deep and laps deep stripes along Louis’ crack, lovingly sucking his lover’s sweet peach pit.

Under no circumstances does butter function as lube (as they had previously learned the hard way,) so a full ass-eating in the only thing on the menu this morning.

“You feeling vibey?” Harry asks slowly, humming over his bootie hole.

Louis can practically feel his prostate quiver and pulse in time with the vibrations. He struggles to remain silent and tries to move his body to release some of that built up tension. Harry, having none of that, holds him down until he is essentially smoldering there on the mattress, as Harry tongue fucks him, mercilessly.

Harry coats his hands with what he could wipe up off of Louis’ back and crack and gives his own stiff prick some authoritative pulls. He is on edge already, come leaking from him like a broken faucet.  He inserts two fingers gently into Louis’ rectum, swiping his prostate with each glide. He keeps stroking himself until he feels the pleasure pool low in his abdomen, pulsing to the point of no return. He removes his fingers and slips them into Louis’ sensuous mouth, who sucks his own essence lovingly off of Harry’s fingers.  Harry surrenders to the heavenly white clouds of bliss and aims right for Louis’s arse hole, painting an interpretative mural on the walls of his lover’s bum. He swoops his right hand down Louis’ cleft, collecting his come to start working Louis’ cock.  He continues to eat him out with renewed enthusiasm. Approximately 18 seconds later, Louis comes his brains out –silently—his entire body shaking uncontrollably.

Breathless and panting, there is nothing to say. No words are useful, so they lie together snuggling until they are, once again, calm and breathing in rhythm.  Safe in each other’s arms.

Harry hands Louis his morning cuppa, which was still warm enough to enjoy pleasantly.

“What was thaaat?” Louis finally asks slowly, voice cracking a bit.

“You forgot to pack the lube, so I buttered your buns.”

They giggle and keep each other close. Tender kisses hold the promise of many more memories to savor. Time floats away and they drift off to sleep.

***

 

“Oh, fuck me!” Niall yelps. He doesn’t bother to shield his eyes; they’re past all that.  

With that, Harry and Louis startle mid-cycle from that deep, disorienting, late morning sleep.  

“Hi Niall.” Harry sleepily greets.

“Oi, oi” responds his bedmate.

“We wondered where you two were. It was strangely quiet so we got suspicious. I should have known. One of you bitches owes me a beer.  I need to bleach my retinas and forget what I saw here today.” Niall teases and heads out of the room.

He pops his head back in, “Actually we are getting hungry, so hurry the fuck up. Not all of us had a comecicle for breakfast.”

“Buttered buns.” Harry corrects, licking his lips in an exaggerated manner.

“NO! Butter? First you ruin bananas for me and now butter. I swear to god Styles, if you ruin beer for me I will kick your arse so bad that Louis will never want to touch it again.”

“Impossible, Haz. Don’t believe him.” Louis declares, defending his babe as he mimes something unspeakably obscene.  “Tonight let’s show him your party trick with the long necker.”

Niall points to both of them, waggling his finger. “Seriously, fuck the both of you. Now take your dirty dicks out of each other’s arses and get up.”

***

After bullshitting over cereal and tea, the boys move the grown-up talk to the terrace. It’s better to be outside when some of the boys will need to chain-smoke their way through this uncomfortable discussion.

 

**(Trigger Warning: dubious sexual consent.)**

“Let’s bring Hazza up to speed.” Louis starts off. Zayn begins, a bit solemnly. “Ok. At the Rose Bowl last year, I met this girl. Her dad worked security and got her an all access pass. I didn’t know this at the time. This info came out later.  Not important. Anyways, I saw her eyeing me in craft service while I was eating a sandwich or some shit. It was creepy, right, but also kind of hot that a girl would be so forward. You know, they are usually quite skittish. Not her, but anyways.  I forgot about her and I came back from sound check and headed back to the dressing room to chill for a while. There I was vaping and reading comics and this girl comes out from behind the wardrobe wearing some sort of lingerie. I literally thought I was trippin. But then she just stood there like a girl from a triple x’er like some casting couch shit. She doesn’t even say a word to me and I am stunned and a little scared, but I‘m high so I don’t really feel fear. It was a fucking weird experience.”

All eyes are on him now; he continues.

“So she comes and walks up and sits on my lap, like straddling me and starts to kiss me. And then one thing led to another and we fucked, of course. Then Niall texted that we were having our pre-show meeting in 10 so I zipped up and headed out. I didn’t even get her name.”

“Ok, I don’t really understand where this story takes such a tragic turn?” Harry says,  trying to put the pieces together. “Was she upset that you didn’t dedicate Night Changes to her?”  

All the boys chuckle, but Louis laughs the loudest, clearly proud of his boy for the funny burn.

“I think we have moved into Little White Lies territory.” Niall chirps.

“I think we should dedicate Alive to Zayn at the next show.” Liam adds.

“Yeah, instead of asking the doctor why you want to be with every girl you see, you should ask about the bumps on your dick.” Louis zings, never one to be left out. Sassmaster from Doncaster. Westside.

Clearly a bunch of comedians.

“Good one, man.” Zayn deadpans, “You all are fuckin funny.” Zayn lights up his second cig and continues, “Anyway, here is where it gets weird. We were there for three shows, right?  She shows up the next night, too, and the same exact thing happens although she was wearing something different.  We don’t talk. I have no idea who she is. She’s like some kind of ghost human that comes floating into my space and then I leave without a trace.”

“Z, that metaphor is weird, but I think I know what you mean to say.” Harry says,  still scrunching up his face. He is so glad he is not straight and just gets to fuck Lou and avoid this het dramz.

“So, the third night, I thought I might see her so I’m on edge, right. Looking around and thinking I see her face everywhere peeking out behind people. It was totally weird. We play our show and then I head back to the dressing room right afterward to pick up my sack and meet you guys for our nightly ritual and there she is, standing in the dark. She puts one hand on my mouth and unzips my trousers and starts sucking my dick right there. Afterward she tucked a piece of paper with her Instagram into my pocket and slipped out the door. “

“Ok, so what’s the problem other than this whole story is disgusting and I want to take a shower---with Lou because parts of it are also kind of hot. I feel awkward. Lou hold me.”

Louis does. He loves his baby.

“Yeah, I threw the paper away or left it in my trousers or something figuring it was a one, errr, three-night stand and left it as that. Then two months goes by and she is tagging me in these pics and saying strange things. She is not coming out and saying “I’m pregnant” but soon enough it became obvious. I ignore it of course.  There are rumours all the time, right. But then her fucking dad contacts the Pasadena promoter who gets a hold of Paul who basically busts my balls about this whole thing. I am planning on denying it, right? I mean, I don’t know her and she’s obviously kind of a slut so….”

“Ok, gross and congratulations?” Harry offers, but his face betrays him because everyone clearly sees that he really wants to puke in a bucket.

“Thanks, man. Anyways. Yeah, so the main problem isn’t the baby, though that definitely is a problem just not sure if it’s mine. But Paul ran the dates with the sonogram pics her dad texted him and it’s looking bad. Her dad claims she was a virgin, too, so there’s that. But, of course, who knows if that is true. Not saying she’s a slag but she knew what she was doing. Anyways. It came out that her dad got fired because he fucked off and broke the rules by bringing her backstage while he was working. She was unsupervised and apparently wearing his company’s work clothes so she would blend in. I saw her practically naked, so I had no idea how devious she was being. So, there’s that and he’s proper pissed about it. But the biggest issue is …... “he pauses to light another cig off of the one that is already lit, “that she was only fifteen. She looked way older, at least seventeen. And I don’t know the laws in California, but she is considered underage. And in the eyes of the law, it could look bad if he claims certain things, you know? Paul said ‘fifteen will get you twenty,” so management wants me to do something to keep her quiet and give him some money so he’ll leave me the fuck alone. I don’t even know what to believe but we for sure did fuck and yeah, and it’s fucking complicated and I don’t want to go to jail for this.”

“What if you _are_ the dad of the baby?” Harry asks earnestly.

There’s a big pause, no one says anything. The tension only grows despite Zayn’s attempt to quell it with smoking--and inertia...“Nothing,” He lights up a fourth smoke, and everybody but Niall and Harry are puffing right along with him. “I’m not marrying her or anything. Our PR people and Simon Jones say not to say anything or respond to her publicly in any way. Just treat it like any other pregnancy rumour. If she is still insisting the baby is mine after the baby is born, then we’ll get a paternity test and take it from there.”

“That’s kind of heartless bro, but I see not wanting to declare something to the world, but babies deserve better. They’re innocent.  This whole situation is so unfortunate. When Lou and I have kids, we’ll make sure everything is organic and that surrogate is well-cared for. Not to be a dick to you, but you’ll have to make it up to the baby somehow if it is yours.”

“Totally.” Zayn responds, unconvincingly. “Another problem is that her friends, and like her whole school and everyone they know are posting and reposting her belly pics with my name tagged and it got picked up by the fandom, of course. I mean, they fucking know everything and it’s basically out there that I banged a 15 year old and she might be carrying my baby. Perrie is still pretty pissed but she’ll get over it. She knows the deal; she’s on the road, too. Anyways, the baby is due in June, so we’ll know for sure in 4 months.”

Liam jumps in to highlight the main points. “Ok, so the issues are: 1) you could be a father, 2) the fans think you are a pervert who is fucking underage girls, and 3) you could be charged with statutory rape if she or her dad press the issue.” Zayn nods in assent. “Am I forgetting anything?”

“I think that summarizes it, unfortunately.”

Liam pulls out a piece of paper and suggests they make a pros and cons list to help them weigh things out. They want to organize their thoughts and present a unified front to their management.

They all jump in and contribute. The main things that are important to management are protecting the One Direction Brand and maintaining a favorable image to appeal to its gullible, young female demographic.  A rape scandal looks really bad, as does Zayn having sexual relations with minors. A fatherhood story could bring good press, but he is not going about the right way since he hasn’t confirmed anything, and he certainly doesn’t have a father-like image. Zayn’s image is quite the opposite, actually, especially with his out of control drug habit and anonymous groupie fucking.

In order to save face in the growing furor of the fandom and to make this whole shitty situation right somehow, they all agree that they will suggest sending Zayn to ‘rehab’ for exhaustion (although he will just go to Jamaica for a month and chill) and leak some stories about his wanting to get healthy for the baby, etc. That way, if the baby is his, it will look like he was doing the right thing. If the baby isn’t his, they can chalk this all up to coincidence. The boys are pleased with their plan.


End file.
